


Lull and Storm

by EarlGreyLeaf



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco/Harry - Freeform, Drama, Drarry, Harry/Draco - Freeform, M/M, Male Slash, One Shot, Slash, hpdm - Freeform, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-16
Updated: 2012-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-31 06:38:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarlGreyLeaf/pseuds/EarlGreyLeaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry Potter first sees young Draco Malfoy, the blonde is swimming in robes far too large for his petite frame. -A one-shot following the course of the series and goes slightly AU after Order of the Phoenix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lull and Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Wow! I actually managed to get this up by my personal deadline! :) I tried something new, that being present tense. It fits the story much better than past, or any other. Let me know what you think!

**I.**

When Harry Potter first sees young Draco Malfoy, the blonde is swimming in robes far too large for his petite frame.

"Hogwarts, too?"

Harry nods absentmindedly, too absorbed in the varying arrays of clothing far-fetched from anything he's encountered in his aunt and uncle's favorite department stores.

The slim boy speaks of racing brooms, and school, and ' _Kwi-Ditch_ ,' drawling voice barely disguising his obvious excitement.

The nameless blonde asks him which house he thinks he will be in, and Harry can only think he will be happy as long as it's not the Dursleys'.

**II.**

The summer before their second year, Harry moves to the Burrow.

Ron and the twins' stunt with the Ford Anglia cost them a few weeks of servitude under their mother's watchful eye, but Harry was welcomed with warm arms. He discovers amongst all of the Weasleys' sons, there is a daughter. A short, waifish girl with a straight sheet of ginger hair, unlike her brothers' kinky waves. She eyes him cautiously around every corner, and it makes him nervous.

A few months after the school year starts, the attacks begin. Harry, Hermione and Ron turn their suspicions to the pale, pointy-faced Malfoy heir. The blonde spouts pureblood nonsense at every chance, sneering and smirking at the Gryffindor trio behind professors' backs. His looks are taunting, and Harry thinks Malfoy never quite got past his rejection in First Year.

**III.**

Three years have passed, and Dolores Umbridge now rules Hogwarts in Dumbleodre's stead.

Malfoy corners him one night on his way back from a DA meeting, the now strikingly more handsome teen flashing his Inquisitorial Squad badge.

"Out for a stroll, Potter?"

They fire several witty insults, tense and bitter. He notices the Slytherin's body language is strange. Icy eyes stare him down, but Harry can see the uncertainty they harbour.

He can sense something changing, and Malfoy is much closer now.

**IV.**

Harry and Malfoy have become a great deal closer.

They are more confident with each other, and their Sixth Year brings maturity with it. They sneak kisses, retreating to dimmed corridors while the castle sleeps. Muffled chuckles and quiet hisses are all the conversation they need on these heated nights.

In the winter, they chance days together out in the snow. For the second time, Harry finds himself pelting Draco with snowballs. The blonde smiles freely, rare and beautiful, his cheeks dusted pink from cold and contentment. They share butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, and peer through frosted windows stocked with Christmas goods.

It's not long after that the hushed rumours begin to circulate.

On Christmas evening, Draco gives him a small box. Inside is a small silver sphere on a thin chain. An 'Aptus,' Draco informs him. He takes the necklace, slipping it carefully around Harry's neck. The tiny, hollow globe fills with a thin smoke. Draco's thin hand dips into his own collar, and withdraws an identical object.

"They're connected. They fill with this smoke when its other half's wearer is thinking of you."

Harry is blushing, and calls him a sap. Draco flashes him a winning smile, and kisses him.

It's in the abandoned Gryffindor common room that evening, half-illuminated by a sputtering fire, that Draco finally utters something that makes Harry's heart thrum against his ribcage. His cheeks, still coloured with post-lovemaking flush, heat even more, and he stutters.

"I love you, too."

In the spring, there are more students out on the grounds. They lounge in the breezeways and by the Lake, sleeves rolled and laughing. Ron and Hermione complain that he doesn't spend much time with them anymore, and Harry can only shrug sheepishly.

He loves how Draco's hair shimmers in the sunlight. It looks like silk, and Harry runs his hand through it as he kisses his lover by the Lake. When he pulls away, he notices for the first time the fresh circles under Draco's eyes.

Over the next few weeks, Draco's smiles become gradually tighter, and the circles darken.

**V.**

The sound of the screams is deafening.

Explosions erupt behind him, but he still staggers after Dumbledore in the blackened hallways. Every person in the castle is either fighting, or hiding away on the many floors below. Flashes of colour flare through the floor-to-ceiling windows every few seconds, and he is sickened to see so much green.

When they reach the top of the Tower, the wizened man nearly buckles from his pain. Harry reaches to aid him, but Dumbledore insists he will be fine. They stand in the quiet, obscured from the hell below, for some time. Harry is about to question the old man, when footsteps sound on the spiral staircase outside. He reaches for his wand, but the headmaster immobilizes him and he can only watch in panic.

The door opens, and someone hesitantly enters, wand drawn.

"Good evening, Draco."

Dumbledore's voice is hoarse, but stern. Draco's eyes narrow as they land on the silver-haired man. His face is gaunt, and Harry knows he must be afraid.

But he watches in confusion when Draco does not lower his trembling arm. The two exchange words, and Harry is utterly lost until Dumbledore accuses the young man of having let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts.

"Right under your nose and you never realized!"

Harry wants to scream.

" _NO!_ " he wants to yell,  _"Draco, that's not true! You wouldn't do that!"_

But the boy keeps his shaky gaze on the headmaster, who is growing weaker every moment that passes. They speak of a Vanishing Cabinet, and  _Borgin and Burke's,_  and suddenly everything makes sense.

And he feels sick.

They hear voices, and people swirl in through the door frame. All Death Eaters, he realizes, Snape at the lead. The bat-like man hurries to Draco's side. Dumbledore utters a small, pleading ' _Severus…,_ ' and the sound frightens Harry more than anything. Snape's jaw is taught, eyes calculating, but he says nothing.

Harry's stomach is cold as ice. He knew it all along, knew that Snape should never have been trusted.

A jet of lime light erupts from the potion master's wand, and Harry feels the bottom of his world fall out. He can only look on helplessly as Dumbledore staggers, life already gone from his crinkled blue eyes, and disappears over the battlements.

He feels his restraints loosen with the death of their caster, but the Death Eaters have already left. He bolts down the staircase , and peels through floor after floor after them. He finally finds himself outside the castle, doubled over, and can make out Snape racing towards the gate, clutching Draco by his upper arm.

They are nearly gone when Harry starts shouting spells. A few of their group have stayed behind, and are trying to stop him, but he manages to fend them off. Snape and Draco are stumbling through the tall wrought-iron archway when Harry shouts, " _SECTUMSEMPRA!_ "

Someone screams, and Harry collapses as he watches blood pour from the one person he would never have hurt.

Seconds later, they are gone.

**VI.**

They are in Russia this week.

It's sometime mid-November, and the brutal Siberian winds buffet the sides of the tent. Ron has been gone for nearly two months. Hermione, still devastated, stays mostly silent, but continues her work. Harry respects this, and spends much of his time in his own wing of the enchanted tent.

He's been in her place before.

He listens to the sound of the whistling gusts of snow, sprawled over his quilts. It's always so quiet. Harry almost yearns for something to happen, good or bad. Anything is better than silence, the uncertainty of what is happening in the wizarding world… At Hogwarts.

In a habit that long ago became his comfort, his hand dips into his collar and retrieves something silver. It's the Aptus that Draco gave him.

He had almost wanted to destroy it the night of Dumbledore's death. Throw it in one of the fires on Hogwarts' grounds, and be done. And as it had hung dangling above roaring flames, something inside him relented and he had withdrawn his arm.

In some semblance of hope, he has worn the delicate instrument every day since. Hope that maybe Draco was not truly evil, and had not truly betrayed them.

Had not betrayed  _him._

Ron and Hermione had known who the gift was from. Even Hermione, with all her belief in the inner good of anyone, hated seeing the reminder of someone who indirectly caused so much pain. Only after several arguments, and accusations being thrown, did Harry start keeping the object under his shirt.

It's been five months since the night in the Tower. The grief is still fresh, and he wonders everyday if he could have done something, anything, to prevent what happened. He hates himself for not asking questions, for not learning why his lover had been so detached.

He knows Draco had almost no choice once Voldemort gave him the task, and he can only imagine the terror of knowing you either have to kill the most powerful wizard alive, or be killed along with your family.

But there is always hope.

The same hope that lies flickering and small inside his chest.

The same hope that sparks every time he brings the Aptus into the light to see the smoke that has not once disappeared.

**VII.**

Their worst fear has been realized.

It's his fault, Harry knows. All of the years spent not fearing a name, and he forgot to remember he should now.

As he, Hermione and Ron, who had finally returned, are being dragged towards looming blackened-oak doors, his stomach is turning knots.

Malfoy Manor.

He has no plan. They are being hauled right to Voldemort's doorstep, and Harry sees no way out. He doesn't even know if they will live another ten minutes. But even in the dire mess he brought upon the three of them, the tiny flame in his chest jolts. He knows, in this ominous, dreadful place, there is a chance to see Draco again.

They are inside now, and someone has been sent to bring help. He hears footsteps approaching, but it is a woman, by the sound of heels. Narcissa Malfoy appears in the emptied sitting room. She questions the group, and their captors claim that they have caught the elusive Harry Potter and his friends.

Soon, Lucius Malfoy and and Bellatrix Lestrange appear behind her.

"What's this? What's happened?"

"They say they've got Potter," Narcissa Malfoy responds. Her husband starts, and whirls upon the Snatchers and their prisoners.

Harry can feel Greyback sneering beside him. The waifer-thin woman eyes them for a moment, then says, "My son is home for the holidays. If it is Potter, he will know."

Harry's heart lurches.

He hears her call out into the hallway, and his mind slows to a near-stop. He doesn't know whether to feel fear or excitement, or even hatred for his captors. He only feels numb as quiet footsteps draw near.

Harry closes his swollen eyes for a moment when the sound halts hesitantly outside the doorway. His heart is in his ears, and he breathes deeply before opening them again.

There is another step, and Draco Malfoy's thin frame emerges.

Draco's eyes widen fractionally, and he knows it's Harry.

There is a split second, all their own, when they see nothing but each other. The months have not been kind to Draco. The darkness under his eyes is deeper, and his skin is like paper. It hurts him to see the boy in this condition. There is a strange look in the blonde's eyes, but they move quickly to his father before Harry can identify it.

Lucius Malfoy's voice snaps him out of his stupor, "Well, Draco? Is it really him? Harry Potter?"

His son's face is reluctant, fearful, "I… I can't be sure."

The older Malfoy looks like a madman, "Come closer, and look properly!"

Draco glances to his mother, and takes an uncertain few steps forward. He is close to Harry now, and peers into his inflamed face. His pale eyes linger in Harry's taut scar, then drift down to his near-shut eyes.

All too quickly, Draco turns away, "I don't know."

Lucius looks desperate, and the room's occupants grapple amongst themselves before Harry finds himself being thrown in the manor's cellar.

**xxxxx**

They have been down here for hours, and the darkness is suffocating. Hermione's screams have stopped, and Ron is beside himself. Luna and the wandmaker Ollivander are with them, as well as Dean Thomas, but they are in much poorer condition.

Harry is almost unconscious from sheer fatigue when a loud crack fills the room. A small figure is before him, large eyes filled with panic.

"Dobby is here to rescue Harry Potter!"

Harry has never felt so glad to see the tiny elf.

They quickly tell Dobby to Apparate them to Bill and Fleur's cottage by the sea. The elf has just vanished with Dean, Luna, and the wandmaker when they hear Lucius Malfoy shout, "Did you hear that?" The man's voice calls for Pettigrew to check the cellar. Harry hastily tells Ron a plan, who nods in agreement. They hear the man approach, and as soon as the door opens, they are on him.

They knock him unconscious, petrifying him with his own wand, and flee quickly up the stairs. They pause outside the sitting room, able to see inside through a crack in the door. They listen for a moment, but when Lestrange tells the werewolf to have Hermione, Ron lets out a strangled noise, and bursts through the door. Harry gapes in horror.

There are cries of panic, and sounds of spells hitting the walls. Harry regains control, and flies through the doorway, snatching up Lestrange's wand, throwing ' _Stupefy_ ' over his shoulder several times. The madwoman shrieks in outrage, launching herself forward, and grabbing Hermione by the arm, "DROP YOUR WANDS OR SHE DIES!"

They freeze.

Ron is stiff, clutching the stolen wand pointed directly at Greyback's throat.

"I said drop them!"

They do. Lestrange sends Draco, who has flattened himself against a far wall, forth to retrieve them. Harry watches the boy's quivering hands as he backs away. The woman across the room shouts more orders, and turns to Greyback, "Take the girl. The Dark Lord will not mind you doing away with her."

But the werewolf's grimy hands have not moved a fraction before there is a horrible grinding noise, and the ornate chandelier in the center of the room drops with a terrible crash

Harry throws his hands up, shielding himself from the debris. Ron runs to Hermione's side, and Harry takes his chance. Everyone is stunned, and he leaps over the armchair and pins Draco beneath him. The blonde barely struggles. There is relief in his eyes.

"You sent Dobby to help us."

Draco pauses, then looks away and his grip slackens. After a moment, his gaze turns back to him, and there is a light behind his eyes again. There is a smirk on his lips, and Harry's heart leaps. The wands are shoved into his hand, and Draco kisses him passionately and quickly, before he says, "If anyone asks, I fought you tooth and nail for these."

A fire in Harry's chest roars, but Draco shoves him hard, "Go!"

Harry stumbles to his feet, and sprints to his friends' sides, looking over his shoulder one last time before Dobby throws his thin self over them, and they are gone.

**VIII.**

For being face to face with the most fearsome wizard in the world, Harry is terribly calm.

His wand is clutched white-knuckled in his hand, and he knows what he must do. He realizes now.

He can only hope it is the right thing, and in his mind, he whispers, ' _I love you, Draco._ '

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

**IX.**

He swims back into the living world, blood rushing to his head and beating in his ears.

He hears voices, muffled and excited.

"The boy… Is he  _dead?_ "

A rasping voice, Voldemort's voice, calls forth someone to examine him. Harry has no idea who, until they are leaning over him. She smells like her son.

" _Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?"_

Her voice is nearly inaudible. Harry is still.

" _Yes._ "

Narcissa Malfoy flies to her feet, "He is dead!"

**X.**

Harry feels safe as Hagrid carries him back to Hogwarts. He hasn't seen his old friend in nearly a year, and it stings to not be able to open his eyes and calm him. But it is comforting nonetheless.

It isn't long before he hears the gasps of horror, and whimpers of awful realization.

Everyone thinks Voldemort has won.

His heart hammers in his ears, and he vaguely wonders if that alone will give him away. It seems so loud. He finds himself straining, searching the muffled cries and sobs, and finally, he hears Draco.

He doesn't dare crack his eyes to see his pain.

**XI.**

Voldemort is dead.

For a scarce few seconds, Harry doesn't hazard to believe it.

But even before his smudged-glass-shielded eyes, the papery remains of what was once the most fearsome man in the wizarding world billow and fade in the wind.

The Death Eaters and dark creatures have vanished, retreating in the wake of their master's destruction, and Harry hazily hears the weak, victorious shouts rising from the castle grounds. He straightens, allowing the smoke-tinged air to fill his lungs completely, hoping to ease his aching body.

Quiet footsteps approach him from behind, halting just a few feet away. He turns, heart still sputtering, and lifts his gaze to Draco Malfoy's weary, ash-smudged face.

He is still the most beautiful thing Harry has ever seen.

The blonde's face is a mask of uncertainty, his eyes shifting over the Gryffindor's war-torn form. He's chewing his lip, looking as if his words are filling to the brim, but he doesn't know what to say.

When they finally meet their gazes, they decide words mean nothing.

Within seconds, they have rushed into each others arms, sweaty and dirty, but holding tightly to one another nonetheless. Fervent kisses land over his face, Draco cupping his cheeks strongly. Harry's whole body feels like it's on fire, but not from the pain. The intense warmth is coming from within, easing his aches and setting his heart ablaze.

When they do pull apart, they become dimly aware of the near silence that has fallen over the onlookers. He can see Draco's cheeks stained bright rose beneath the grime. Draco is the one who finally speaks, his smile faltering slightly.

"I wasn't sure you'd have me back."

There is a tinge in Harry's chest. He brings his palm up to rest against the side of his lover's face, "You had a reason for doing what you did. Anyone would have done the same."

Draco smiles warmly. His eyes drift shut and he nuzzles into the Gryffindor's palm. Harry withdraws his hand after a moment, dipping it below the neckline of his shirt to reveal the small orb hidden inside. The blonde's eyes widen.

"Not once has this left my neck."

Draco watches the object twirl for a moment, before bringing his hands back and drawing the Aptus' twin forth from his neck.

He's quiet for a moment, then "Try keeping this thing on with dozens of Death Eaters and the Dark Lord himself living in your home." Draco grumbles, arms encircling Harry's waist once more, "A feat only manageable by yours truly." A cocky smirk etches onto his face, and the sight is wonderful.

Harry laughs tiredly. Draco casts his gaze around, eyeing the crowd curiously, "Suppose they've figured it out yet?"

"I think they've got the picture."

Draco glances at him from the corner of his eye, "I dunno. I think they need more convincing."

The blonde's smirk turns mischievous, and Harry begins to struggle. Unable to escape Draco's now iron grip, he finds himself being assailed by the Slytherin's deliciously skilled mouth.

There are cat-calls and whistles, and they find themselves laughing onto each others lips instead. Harry looks about, searching for his friends and waves them over enthusiastically once he does, contentedly awaiting the onslaught of embraces.

Everything will be fine.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: You guys don't even want to know how much research went into writing this. From timelines to re-reading chunks of all the books... It was crazy.
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day, my lovelies! :D Review please!


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